


The King of Thieves

by kiwichookie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwichookie/pseuds/kiwichookie
Summary: The King of Thieves gives shelter to all those who cannot find home in Gondor. Rejected by their king in their time of need, they form the Forgotten People, a hodgepodge group of miscreants. Faithful and loyal subjects, they alone know that their new powerful king is actually a queen - until King Elessar comes to investigate those sending his soldiers home humiliated.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. The Forgotten People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> I will be bringing this work over from FF.   
> This story was started 6 years ago, and I recently decided to attack it once more.
> 
> Like most fan fiction works, several concepts added to the idea that sparked this story. I can freely admit that I borrowed the "King of Thieves" title from Tamora Pierce, and the concept of "King" being a title and not based on gender from The Enchanted Forest Chronicles.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

It was fifteen years into King Elessar's reign.

The people, while having rejoiced to again have a proper king, had now lazily settled into a happy place of easy contentment - as so often happens when people are gifted with periods of peace. There may have been small skirmishes and challenges to his authority (outside Minas Tirith walls, of course), but for the most part Aragorn, son of Arathorn's rule was undisputed.

It was not, however, untroubled.

In the aftermath of the War of the Ring, King Elessar knew he had a mess to clean. Orcs and Uruk-hai still roamed the countryside, plundering and pillaging. Innocents still died, and homes still burned. As a kind and wise king, Aragorn knew it was his duty to protect his people. He began sending out men, both soldiers and Rangers, to hunt down the evil remnants of Sauron and Saruman and eradicate them. As time passed, their raids spread farther and farther, pushing the borders of their country. It was a year into this process, when his men came back speaking of a wily and dangerous new king that Aragorn knew his rule was about to be tested. The King of Thieves, this man was called - seemingly an apt name, for the citizens of his territory (Aragorn refused to consider it a realm unto itself) appeared to be mostly vagabonds and grifters, and other people of an unsavory nature. The soldiers of Gondor had been patrolling on the edge of Southern Gondor (in an area with a curious lack of evil creatures) when they came upon what appeared to be a large village, mostly made of tents. The inhabitants, while not particularly fair of face or garb, seemed generally jovial and friendly from afar - until their borders where crossed. A group of hard-looking men had approached the party, and informed them in no uncertain terms that they were to leave their city under the orders of their King, and that they were very capable of policing their own borders. Gondorian men, being a proud and valiant race, are not prone to accept such orders very well. When matters turned violent, the men proved surprisingly adept at defending themselves, and the soldiers were thoroughly beaten and pushed back.

When news of this reached the King of Gondor, he knew immediately what he must do. No challenge to his rule could stand - Harondor, where these wayfarers had settled, was, after all, his territory. He sent out a small war party of fifty. From the reports of his previous scouts, these drifters were small in number. However, his war party returned, badly beaten. So he doubled the amount of men, not believing he would have to call out his full army for such a small amount of upstart trouble-makers. They returned, beaten and with a message that read, "The next attack party you send to my people, I will return you their heads." There was no signature. Aragorn scoffed at this man's threat. Surely he must know he was no threat to the mighty Gondor! He sent two hundred men.

A single man came back, tears on his face as he delivered the head of his captain to his king. There was no message.

Aragorn began to feel something he had not felt since becoming king - doubt. Perhaps his reports were wrong, and these people had larger numbers than his scouts reported. Perhaps his men had grown complacent in the times of peace. Perhaps these people were some sort of highly-trained warrior race. Perhaps they had some kind of super-weapon. He was not sure, but he did know one thing: He could not continue to send out men when the threat they were facing was largely unknown. At a loss, he consulted his advisors, who all told him to pull out his army. Steadfastly against this, he pondered his options. It was his queen, Arwen, however, who gave him his solution.

"My love, consider if you were this man. He considers himself king of that land, and you have attacked his city. Are you not, as king, sworn to protect your people? Your arrogance has lead you to go about this the wrong way, and you have left him no choice but violence. Go to him. Treat with him in person, one king to another. Show him respect, and you will have an end to this fighting," she told him. Seeing the wisdom in this, he gathered a small group of Rangers - good men he had known many years - as well as his old friends Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm.

When they finally reached this unnamed city, it was night. Dismounting, they tethered their horses far away so that they could come upon the camp unnoticed, and quietly entered the outskirts of the tent city. As they crept, Aragorn took in his surroundings, noticing that there seemed to be a pattern in the random placing of the tents. He could not say for certain, but he would hazard a guess that as the whole place was set up in a circle, and that the closer to the center they grew, the grander the tents became, until the moniker did not even seem to suit.

The whole city seemed to be abandoned, but in the distance he could hear a great revelry, so he knew this was not true. They were close enough to the edges of the fray to see a large bonfire (needed since the night was just cold enough to feel chilled if you had no source of heat), surrounded by dancing people and music. It was here he knew that his theory about the layout of the camp was correct - and that this was the center of the circle.

They paused, not sure how to announce their presence without starting another fight.

"Nice party, no?"

They whirled, weapons at the ready, only to find a young woman, standing so casually she might well have been leaning against something. She spoke again, her voice quietly amused, "Although somehow I doubt you're here to join in the festivities." Her voice, while one of those that had a natural soft mezzo-soprano quality to it, seemed to carry, and the music died down. People turned, giving Aragorn and his party their attention. "Three elves and seven men make for a strange traveling party. Might I ask who you are?"

Aragorn stepped forward. "I am Elessar, King of Gondor." Something about her countenance seemed to sharpen as he said this, but he continued anyway with a gesture toward the elves. "These are my companions, Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm." Gesturing toward the men, he continued, pointing to each in turn, "These men are Rangers - this is Fuer, Keveal, Taer, Harat, Leran, and Alohlot." As he spoke, he took her in, assessing her. And though she listened intently, he had the impression she was assessing them as well.

He guessed her age to be about twenty - old enough to be self-assured but young enough to be saucy and impudent - and therefore unwise. She was a woman of singular beauty, although her coloring was the olive and teak of the Easterlings. She wore her hair mannishly short, the same length as his, and black, loose curls brushed just past her shoulders, half pulled back with a few locks falling forward to frame a small, heart-shaped face. Large, slightly almond grey eyes - an oddity, because it was a trait of Gondorian descent rather than from the East - sat beneath fine black arched brows. A small mouth with full, rose-flushed lips complimented a small chin. Her beauty was not hindered by the fact that she was dressed as a man. She wore a black cotton sleeveless tunic that extended to her knees. When she moved, however, it was clear that at her waist were slits that created six panels of fabric - such that would it would flare out if she spun, almost like a skirt. Underneath this she wore black cotton trousers tucked into what appeared to be black boots - if boots were made by using a sole of some sort and then wrapping a length of fabric around your foot, ankle and calf - and a long-sleeve dove grey linen undershirt, that had the same skirt-like pattern that would flare at the waist at the tunic. Tied around her waist asymmetrically, so that the knot was over her left hip, was a sash of crimson silk. The only thing feminine about her clothing were the ruby studs in her ears, and a matching ruby pin keeping her hair back from her face. She carried no weapons.

"Who might you be, Lady?" he inquired.

She laughed, a pleasant sound like water bubbling over a rocky creekbed. "I am Calil-Gadien Abrazir, of the Forgotten People."

"Abrazir? That name is of one of the Dunedain, yet you do not look like a ranger."

She smiled, amused. "You are correct, I am no ranger. Nor, I suppose, would my name be Abrazir according to Gondorian custom; rather, it would be Abraziriel."

"Abraziriel," he said slowly, staring at her quite hard. "Daughter of Abrazir."

"Yes." She tilted her head, all traces of laughter suddenly gone. "What can I do for you, King Elessar?"

"I come seeking he who calls himself the King of Theives."

A smile spread, joy lighting her face until she was laughing again. She turned to face the crowd of revelers. "He comes seeking the King!" she called out to them, and they returned the laughter she gave them. She turned back to the Aragorn and his men. "I will take you to the king, on one condition: You must leave your weapons here." Her smile asked for their compliance. "You understand."

At Aragorn's nod, several men stepped forward to take all their weapons as the woman waited. Once the men were done, she turned on her heel, tunic bottom flaring and shifting to show the grey skirted shirt beneath it, and took them toward the a tent much larger than the others, which sat thirty feet from the fire. The fabric was a rich brocade with gold fringe hanging where the top met the walls, and as the walked inside they could see that a slightly sheer white fabric had been hung also, creating walls. So grand was this tent that it could not be entirely revealed to the elements; suspended on four poles was a thick sheet of cotton canvas, obviously meant to protect the tapestry fabric from the tent from the rain and elements. It even had a doorway of sorts, made by panels of the same two fabrics that rolled and retracted up behind the hanging gold fringe. From the looks of it, both the heavy outer layer and the lighter inner layer of fabric were capable of being drawn up to open the tent just slightly, or completely.

As they entered, one of the men closed the tent behind them, and Aragorn marveled at the size and elegance of the interior. Calil-Gadien Abraziri,not fazed, continued in, as comfortable as if she lived there as a tall man seated in the back of the room stood. Tall and elegant he was not - scruffy and ragged, yes. It was easy to imagine such a man leading a horde of ragamuffin thieves and bandits.

Grabbing an apple from a small table laden with bowls of bread and fruit, Calil ungracefully plopped into the large chair the man had just vacated. Propping one foot up on the table in front of her, she slouched lazily as she crunched her apple. "So, what can I do for you men?"

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were taking us to see the king."

She smiled, almost condescendingly. "I am the king."


	2. Disturbing Tales

Her smirk mocked them. "What business could six rangers, three elves - princes of elves, even - and a great king have with someone such as I?"

Aragorn stared at her. "You are the king?

She tilted her head toward them, grey eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief. "Indeed I am."

"But you are a woman."

"Very well spotted."

The company all stared at her, and she chuckled once more. "Come now. We can either continue to belabor the point, or we can get to the reason for this meeting."

King Elessar gathered himself, clearing his throat. "I have come to address the threat to my reign; those vagabonds known as The Forgotten People."

Still, Calil did not seem worried or threatened. "And I am considered such a threat?"

Aragorn was silent, not sure how to respond. She continued. "Surely my small kingdom is not so dangerous to the large and mighty realm of Gondor? After all, we are but a small faction."

"That is just it," he responded, "The lands you lie on belong to Gondor, and you most assuredly are trespassing."

She titled her head to the side, face querying. "What would you have me do?"

"Return to Gondor, wherever you are from, both you and your people. Disperse your so called 'kingdom'. Go back to my rightful rule."

Removing her booted foot from the table in front of her, she stood. "I can see that we will be here for a good while. Let us dine together; I know the journey here was long, and I am sure you have not eaten." Turning, she called out of the tent. "Aranareth!"

A young woman's head leaned into the tent, and Aragorn and his company tried very hard not to forget their manners and stare, for although she was a young woman of beauty, with fair hair and blue eyes, the left side of her face was hideously mottled and scarred, the left eye blind. "Your Majesty?"

Call smiled gently at the girl. "Please bring food and wine for King Elessar and his company." Nodding, the young woman left the tent.

The King of Thieves sat back in her high-backed chair, smiling indulgently at the men in front of her as she took another bite of her apple.

"You have my thanks," Aragorn told her quietly.

She nodded in response as another a man quietly entered and began clearing the table. Again, the king of Gondor had to try not to stare at the servant, who was missing his right hand.

At length, the maid quickly returned, and soon the table was laden with food and wine to fill their bellies.

"Aranareth," Calil's soft voice struck out like a bell, stopping the young girl as she made her way out of the tent. The girl turned, her hands clasped so tightly in front of her that her knuckles were white, and Aragorn began to wonder - was this girl (for she well and truly was a girl to him, ruler of a people or not), this so-called king, so fearsome that her servant was so afraid of her?

"Yes, Your Majesty?" the blonde's soft voice asked in response.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen, sire," the girl responded, eyes on the ground.

"Where are you from?"

"Minas Tirith."

Surprised, Aragorn looked sharply at the girl and then to Calil, wondering where this was going.

"Would you tell King Elessar why you left?

Startled, the girl looked up to her king, hands wringing nervously. Calil-Gadien Abrazir stood, gesturing for the girl to take her seat. "It's alright, dear. Come."

And so the girl took her seat, perching anxiously on the edge, and began to speak. "I- I was born in Minas Tirith, sir," she began, hesitantly meeting Aragorn's eyes. "I doubt you would know of my family, we are but poor bakers."

"You speak very well for such a one," Aragorn offered.

Aranareth smiled weakly, distractedly, her small pale hand coming up to tuck one blonde strand behind her ear. "Thank you, sir. My mother's doing - she always said that we may be born common, but that did not mean we had to _seem_ common. I think she had high aspirations for me, to marry above my station and improve my standing in life; and there was hope for it, as I - forgive me - was her most beautiful child, and her only daughter." She swallowed harshly, and looked to her ruler. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to the pitcher of wine.

Abrazir nodded the affirmative, taking her own cup and filling it once more before turning her back to them to hand it to the girl silently as the company watched. This was not the usual interaction between a ruler and their subject - and, being all fairly high ranking men (and elves) they all knew what the standard modus operandi was. They may be kind men and rulers, but never before had they seen a monarch go so far as to share a cup with a common subject - the closest they came would be sharing from a ritual goblet, and that was generally done in ceremonies held by nobility.

The girl accepted the cup with hands that shook and took a gulp as her king said nothing, waiting for her to gather her nerves and continue - and Aragorn began to have the unsettling feeling that it was not this King of Thieves that this girl was so terrified of, but him. "I am not proud to say that I knew it. I was vain. I was very popular with the men, and I liked very much to flirt with them." Here she stopped, staring into the depths of the goblet she held. "My favorite to flirt with were the Tower Guard." She met Elessar's eyes, mouth twisted bitterly. "I lived on the fifth level, and it was quite the popular pasttime of girls to go up to the gardens on the sixth, where the Houses of Healing are."

Aragorn nodded. "I am familiar with them." They were quite beautiful to behold, and he had wandered them more than once.

"The best part is not the gardens, nor the view of the city below; rather, we would go because from there, you can see the Guards of the Citadel. They look so valiant, standing there, noble in their shining armor. All the girls dream of marrying one." She looked again to her new ruler, but whether she was seeking comfort or the courage to go on, none could say. Calil put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, and the young woman looked back into her goblet. "I was returning from the seventh level - I had gone with Beren, a flower peddler. We weren't supposed to be there, I know, but he wanted to show me the view from the top of the city." Her throat constricted, and she took another large gulp of her wine. "A few of the Tower Guard caught us, men I knew. Men I _liked._ They told us we could be arrested, and to run. One of them drew their sword, and Beren - he ran.

"I laughed. I thought they were joking. And when they told me that I shouldn't be parading around with strange men, I teased them, saying they were jealous. They said that they would escort me home, to make sure no harm came to me." Aragorn watched the girl, a feeling of unease beginning to grow in his gut. "When they dragged me behind a wall, I still could not believe it. How could men I had known for years hurt me?" Still she stared into the wine, and a single tear fell into the goblet. "They held me down. They took _turns_ with me. They told me they would hurt me if I screamed. I still didn't think it true. But when I began to struggle, one of them put his torch to my face."

"Why didn't you say something?" Aragorn whispered, horrified.

The girl's head jerked up, blue rage-filled eyes meeting his own. The depths of anger and pain there were such that he could not hold her gaze, and found himself turning away. "I _did,_ " she snarled, voice quiet but seething. "I did things the _proper_ way. I went to file a _formal complaint_ , my face still half in bandages. I gave the names of the men who raped me to their captain. And do you know what he did? _Nothing._ He told me little girls shouldn't go where they aren't allowed, and not to flirt with strangers, and dismissed me. I tried to go above _him,_ but do you know who the next step is? The _king_. Who refused to see me or hear my case, referring me back to the captain of his guard." She glared at him, gaze challenging.

Aragorn sat in his chair, speechless and horrified.

"Aranareth?" Calil's quiet voice broke the silence, and the girl's head whipped to look at her monarch, as if she had forgotten she was there. "How old were you?"

The girl steeled herself once more, meeting her former king's eyes again with that furious, betrayed gaze. "I was thirteen," she spat, before setting her goblet of wine down with a thunk. Standing, she turned to Abraziriel, smoothing her dress. "Is that all?" When her new king nodded, the girl left without a word and nary a look to the king of Gondor.

Calil-Gadien Abrazir sat back down in the vacated chair as she watched the girl exit, grey eyes grave. "Such cases are the norm here," she told him, voice quiet. "We are called the 'Forgotten People' for a reason. At one time or another, you have failed every person here, and they went on, expected to live their life. Forgotten. But rather live under the rule of a king that had betrayed them, they chose to live somewhere else. Under someone else's rule.

"So, you see," she continued, "It would seem we have a bit of a problem." She put her hands on the table in front of her and leaned forward, eyes intent on Aragorn's. "I will not return to your rule. And I will not command my people to."


	3. Terms

"I'm afraid we've reached a bit of an impasse." Calil told them. "So, I ask you again. What would you have me do?"

Aragorn looked away from her, eyes on the floor, then glanced to his company, "I am not unreasonable. I can understand your dilemma, but I cannot let my rule go challenged."

"But of course," Calil ceded.

"I need time to think over the problem you have presented."

Calil stood, eyes unreadable as she studied the Gondorian king in front of her. Finally, she said, "And you shall have it." Turning, she whistled sharply. "Forlong!" The one-handed man came back into the tent. In response to his questioning look, she said, "Find your former king and his men proper stations. They will be staying the night."

"You have our thanks," Aragorn said quietly as they all rose.

"It is the least I could do," she answered, leading the group of travelers back to the entrance of the tent. Holding it open for them, she continued, "After all, you have come all this way. We will meet again tomorrow. Now, if you excuse me, I do believe I have a party to attend." With one last smirk, she sauntered off towards the revelry.

Aragorn and his men followed the handless manservant away from the party.

"Do you know of Aranareth's story?" Aragorn asked him quietly. The man jumped, surprised to be addressed directly, and glanced back at King Elessar.

"I do, sir," Forlong responded, "A sad and troubling tale, to be sure. Unfortunately such cases are the norm in these parts."

"Yes, your king said as much. That is what troubles me. I had no notion that I was causing such hurt to my subjects."

The man shrugged, no response forthcoming.

"Tell me, are you happier here than you were under my rule?" Aragorn asked.

"To be frank, sir, yes. Calil is a kind and just ruler."

"Am I not?"

"You may be, sir, but how would the people ever know? You are entirely unavailable. As with Aranareth, any person who has a grievance is often pushed aside. Calil is here, among her people, not holed up in some distant tower, seated high on some throne. No matter the trouble or the source, she will see anyone at any time of day."

"May I ask what made you choose to come here?"

The man gave an unhappy laugh. "You wish to know? Truly?"

Elessar found himself girding himself. After Aranareth, he knew it would not be an easy tale to hear; he also knew that if he had been failing his people, it was his duty to put a stop to it. "I do."

The night was dark, and it was hard to make out their guide's face. "My wife died during a raid during the war. I had three babes, one still at the breast." The man rubbed his stump absently. "In the end, I stole some milk for her. Most of the women had been killed, and there were no nursemaids left. It was Calil herself that paid the farmer for the milk, once I was caught. He cared naught; I had still stolen from him, hadn't I? Babes die and starve, and such is the way of the world in wartime; it didn't mean he should be stolen from. And so they took my hand, for a thief." Furlong smiled, but there was no joy in it. "Oh, how angry she was! She hired advocates, said that since the missing milk was paid for, my crippling was now a crime against _my_ person. In the end, it came to naught. No one cares about poor one-handed laborers, certainly not the lords in their halls."

They had reached a tent, not so grand as the one before, but more impressive still than a tarp on four poles, and the manservant gestured for them to enter. "Your lodgings. Inside you will find bedrolls, along with more food and wine in case you have not already had your fill. Rest well, and Calil will send for you in the morning."

Furlong took his leave of the company, and they entered their lodgings. With a sigh, Aragorn poured himself some wine and settled in a chair, weary.

"A cripple! Over a bit of milk for a starving babe!" Elladan exclaimed, and silence greeted his words.

"What are you going to do?" Legolas asked his old friend.

"I know not," Elessar responded with a sigh. "I cannot blame these people for not wanting to return to Gondor, yet if I let this woman challenge my authority, others will try to do the same."

"Calil-Gadien Abrazir," Fuer said slowly, as if mulling it over.

"Abraziriel," Leran corrected.

"Daughter of Abrazir," continued Alohlot.

"Abrazir is a name of the Dunedain. Could she really be one of our own?"

"It is possible," said Elrohir. "Though her color is Easterling, her eyes are the grey of the men of Gondor."

"I think I may have heard of her," Taer interjected, and all heads in the tent turned to look at him.

"Tell us, then," Aragorn commanded.

"In my travels, years ago, I heard strange talk of a wandering warrior. He did not belong to the rangers, but he ranged all the same. In the East, he was known as Yaban, meaning 'wild'. His armor and clothing were that of a man of Rhun, but he spoke Westron fluently, and through his face coverings all that could be seen were a pair of grey eyes. Naturally, such an oddity created interest, and people began noticing something kind of strange - though he dressed like a man, he was rather small and too fine-boned to be one; also, he had quite a soft voice and the walk of the fairer sex. Just as the conclusion was reached that it must be a woman, traveling disguised for safety, all traces of her disappeared."

"So, an Eastern ranger with Gondorian ties; that tells us no more than we could have guessed on our own, though it is interesting to hear," Elrohir said.

"That is not all," Taer responded. "I knew of Abrazir. What a shock it was when she gave her name! A fine ranger he was, even if he was slightly odd. Good warrior. His travels took him to Rhun frequently. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that he fathered a child out there. Indeed, I believe that she is the true daughter of Abrazir, as there is something of his face and his seeming about her. She carries herself much the way he did, and they have the same derisive amusement and flippant nonchalance."

"That would make her your kin," Legolas said.

"Aye, it would." Harat agreed.

"Well, that certainly complicates matters," Elladan said.

"Come, let us rest," Aragorn said. "We will think on it more in the morning."

And the morning dawned all too soon.

Forlong shook the warriors awake. "The king has called for you. She bids you good morning, and expresses her wish that you have breakfast with her."

The company quickly rose to their feet, straightening their clothing and rinsing their mouth with cold water from a basin. They stepped out into the brisk morning air, dew wetting their boots as they walked. Calil greeted them at the door.

"Good morning," she greeted with a smile, amused at their sleepy faces. "I see you slept well."

"Indeed we did."

"Our thanks for your hospitality," Elladan said to her, and she inclined her head in response.

"Come, have a seat. Let us not stand on ceremony, dig in. I have bread and fruit, as well as milk and cheese."

"Milk and cheese?" Keveal questioned, "I did not see any cows."

A mischievous grin lit her face as she poured herself a glass of milk. "I am not called the King of Thieves for nothing." Perhaps it was Furlong's tale from the night before, but Aragorn froze, bread still in his hand with a glare on his face; she only laughed. "Oh, do not worry. I'm only teasing. We have permission to take what we need, and the famers are well compensated for their aid. But let us get to business."

"I have thought much about this dilemma," Aragorn said. "I can see that you love your people, and I can see just as clearly that they love you. I also understand their reasons for not wishing to return to Gondor. However, if I let you stand as a challenge to my authority, others will begin to do the same."

"I can understand that," Calil said, as she tore herself some bread. "I am, after all, in such a position of authority as well. It is a tenuous position, to be sure."

Aragorn nodded. "And so, I have a proposition for you."

Calil put down her glass, eyes serious. "I am listening."

"I will let you stay here, under your own rule. We do much the same with Dol Amroth, which belongs to Gondor but is ruled by princes." Calil nodded, listening intently, and Aragorn continued. "But there will be a tithe, as recompense for the soldiers' lives lost."

"I can live with that," Calil said. "I am not unsympathetic. I know they, too, had wives and families."

Aragorn nodded. "I am glad you are pleased so far. We must establish a mutually beneficial relationship. We will trade goods and services, and you will be recognized as an official ruler. However; you must cede that you belong to Gondor." When Calil drew herself up, eyes sparking, dangerously, he held up a hand to stop her. "Please. You may remain here, unbothered. You would be Calil-Gadien Abrazir, King of Thieves, Her Majesty of The Forgotten People of Gondor. That is all I ask; a change in title - no more, no less. Is it too much to let me save face to those who would challenge me?"

Calil relaxed, gesturing at him to continue eating. "It seems a bit underhanded and sneaky, to let others believe something that is not true for the sake of appearances, but I do not mind. We are such a people. We survive using such tricks. But," she said, staring Aragorn hard in the eye, "I will be _His_ Majesty."

Aragorn nodded his agreement. "That is fine. May I ask why?"

She shrugged. "I have found it better for people to think I am a man. Their expectations are different."

Putting down his food, Aragorn shifted, meeting her grey gaze. "Last night you stated that at one time or another, I had failed everyone here. That brings me to my next question. What did I do to fail _you_?"

" _I_ am not your concern."

"I believe you are, Yaban."

She met his gaze, a sly grin on her face. "I see someone has been paying attention."

"Indeed I have. And I do not see how I could have wronged you; you are not even from Gondor."

"I am not, which is why, as I said, I am none of your concern. I hold no grudges, nor hard feelings against you or your people. I seek only to lead and protect my own. That is all you need to know." She rose. "When you finish your meal, you will find your horses saddled and ready for you. You may send a courier back to me with any official paperwork; I give you my word that he will not be harmed. Good day, gentlemen." And with that, she exited the tent, leaving the men to their own devices.


	4. A Meeting of Kings

And so time passed. For the most part, the realm of the Forgotten People remained unknown to the people of Gondor, though the two kingdoms did indeed enjoy a mutually beneficial relationship. Many times Calil traveled to Minas Tirith to visit with the king of Gondor (and he likewise went to visit her), and the two rulers learned much from each other, both on how to manage their people and in news from their respective realms. Aragorn, in particular, established twice weekly audiences, open to the entire kingdom. He also tracked down the men who had tortured Aranareth; the look on the girl's face when she heard all of the men involved in her attack where banished and sentenced to life as a criminal laborer in Edoras, rebuilding Helm's Deep, was one he would forever hold in his heart. Legolas, too, came to visit often, Ithilien being situated between Calil's city and Minas Tirith.

This was how, during the winter four years after her first meeting with the man, Calil found herself with an official invitation to the city. Aragorn was calling a summit of his allies, and wished the King of Thieves to attend.

"You will need to dress warmly, my lady," Bregwen told her, shuffling about Calil's bedchamber as she cleaned. "We are much farther south than the White City. We'll have to have a fur cloak made for you."

Calil smiled at the old, bent woman's concern. "A fur lined cloak?" she laughed. "Bregwen, I am going to Gondor, not the northernmost reaches of Anor!"

The older woman frowned at her young ruler. "I do not care. You will be amongst the greatest kings of the known world! I will not have you looking like a commoner."

Calil dropped onto her bed with a dramatic groan. "Had I known such trouble would come from associating with kings, I never would have met with him!" The broom whacked her suddenly in the stomach, and she propped herself up on her elbows, glaring playfully. "Old woman! Is that how you treat your king?"

"That is how I treat children who don't listen to their elders," she huffed. "I'll send the order out for your clothing; it will be ready before the week is through, and it will be of fine quality, whether you like it or not. At least _that_ they will find no fault with." The old woman shuffled out of the tent, as Calil glared after her in indignation of the parting insult.

_Although you have to admit,_ she thought to herself, _the old crone had good judgement in calling for a warmer cloak_. Pulling it more tightly around her, she shivered in the brisk wind hitting her in the face as she and her company galloped across the city. Not only was it warm, but it was also a fine looking thing, made of rich dark brown wool, with a lighter brown fur lining and trim. She did not normally ride in clothing so fine, but the weather demanded it.

Ahead of her, her advisor, Anborn, raised his hand to stop the traveling party. "We will reach the city soon, Calil. It would be best to put your hood up."

She supposed she struck something of an impressive figure, riding through the gates with her traveling companions (all of whom had been similarly harassed into dressing for the occasion), curved sword on her hip, mysterious with her face hidden. They continued through the city streets, attracting many a stare.

Aragorn and the other rulers stepped out of the entrance to the Tower of Ecthelion, summoned by the clamor and noise of their arrival. _They are_ all _very impressive._ Her party came to a stop in the courtyard, and she continued forward until she was in the front of them. "Hail! The King of Thieves!" Anborn called out from just behind her, voice strong and carrying.

She swept down off her horse, hood still up, as Aragorn came forward to greet her. Sweeping her up and spinning her around in a giant bear hug, he grinned. "Fashionably late, as usual."

She returned his smile conspiratorially. "I like to make an entrance." Behind him, she could see the other men, examining her curiously.

Offering his arm, Aragorn led her forward. "It is my honor to present Calil-Gadien Abrazir, King of Thieves, His Majesty of the Realm of The Forgotten People of Gondor."

She shoved back her hood, and the men in front of her stared at her in surprise.

A familiar face stepped forward, breaking the shocked silence. "I believe we are already acquainted,"

"Legolas," she laughed, stepping forward to clasp his forearm in greeting. "Well met!"

The next to recover from the surprise of her appearance (and sex) was a large blonde elf, tallest among them, majestic both in seeming and in stature, with something of Legolas in his features. "I am Thranduil, father of Legolas, and King of the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen." His clear blue eyes assessed her cooly as he towered over her. "I am afraid to say my son has done me the disservice of failing to mention you." His words could be mistaken for cordial and diplomatic if not for the coolness of his tone.

"Well met," she responded. _He will not intimidate me. We are of equal standing._ "Try to not judge him too harshly; he was sworn to secrecy, I am afraid."

A _harrumph_ interrupted them. "Sworn to secrecy! From even his dear friend? Legolas, are you so quick to disregard our years in the Fellowship?"

Legolas laughed, blue eyes sparkling. "May I present Gimli, son of Gloin, Lord of the Glittering Caves?"

The hairy dwarf bowed, beard dragging against the stone ground. "At your service."

"And I am at yours," she responded, bowing in return and smiling in amusement. "Long have I been regaled with tales of Gimli the dwarf by your Fellowship, and long have I desired to meet you!"

"I hope the dwarf lives up to the legend," he returned, shifting on his feet.

"You surpass it, good sir."

A dark haired elf stepped forward, and there was a sense of wisdom about him. "I am Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

"It is a pleasure, my lord."

A tough, battle-worn looking man bowed to her. "I am Eomer. King of Rohan."

"A pleasure indeed," she replied, bowing in return.

At last, a tall wizened man stepped forward, eyes sparkling down at her. "You have caused quite a ruckus with your arrival, dear girl."

She frowned. "I do not believe we have met."

"We have not, but I know of you. I am Gandalf the White."

"Then I know of you as well. It is an honor."

Introductions completed, Aragorn turned to her. "Come, we have much to discuss. Dismiss your men; they will find food and stables ready for them." Nodding, she turned, and her men dismounted and bowed before leading their horses away.

Aragorn led them all back inside, and a servant came forward to take her cloak as they were settling into seats around a large round table. As she removed it, he grinned at her. "I see Bregwen had her way with you," he teased.

She followed his gaze down to her clothing with a grimace. "Oh, this is nothing," she responded quietly. "You should see what I have to wear if there is a feast."

"We shall have to have a feast, then."

Removing her sword as well, she shook her head at the servant's offer to take it, and lent it against the side of her chair. Amusedly, she noticed that all the chairs in the room where different, seemingly decorated to match he who sat in it. Eomer's was made of rich blonde wood, and bore galloping horses. Legolas's was carved of a slightly darker wood, with the pattern of twigs and leaves. His father's was much the same, but grander, with the inclusion of carved antlers and crown at the top. Elrond sat in a high-backed wood chair, beautifully and ornately curved at the top, while Gimli's claimed a large carving of two crossed axes. Her own was made of a dark wood, so dark it could almost be black, and was encrusted with colorful semi-precious stones at the the top rail and arms. Compared to the others, it was almost gaudy; a raven's prize. She adored it, and privately considered asking Aragorn later if she could take it with her. Across from her sat Gandalf, in a chair of pure white.

"Why have you called us to gather?" Eomer asked.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, it was not I who desired this meeting."

His eyes met Gandalf's across the table, and the wizard nodded. "It was I." He stood, addressing them all. "A shadow grows again in the East. Evil is returning to the world. I know you all have felt it; I have heard the reports of increased Orc and Goblin activity, separately, from all here, and indeed, a general disquiet is falling upon the world. War is brewing once more."

Eomer leaned forward in his seat. "What is this shadow?"

Gandalf straightened. "It is my belief that it is Ungoliant, mother of the great spiders, a Maiar and former ally of Morgoth; she only defected from him when he refused her the Silmarils. She attacked him, and was pursued into hiding by his servants, the Balrogs of Morgoth. She disappeared and was thought gone after creating Shelob, thought to have devoured herself in her great and eternal hunger."

Thranduil looked at Gandalf, face inscrutable. "We have had an increase in spiders pushing our borders, despite having previously been eradicated from our land."

Here Aragorn spoke, nodding. "Our scouts report increases of activity in Mordor, and new buildings on that land."

Calil nodded. "As have ours."

"They are preparing for something." Aragorn turned to her, concern in his eyes. "Your people are first in line should the forces of Mordor attack. And your city is so small, I fear it would be overwhelmed quickly. I will not make the same mistake as we did the last war; we will not be behind events, but rather face them off at their head. We will be prepared."

Thranduil addressed her. "I am unfortunately remiss on my knowledge of the geography of your realm, lady. Tell me, where lies the Kingdom of The Forgotten People of Gondor?"

Aragorn turned to a servant waiting in the back of the room. "Bring the map."

The servant nodded, scurried, and a map was brought forward.

"This is new," Gimli said standing so as to see it better and thrusting his finger at a spot of the map. There, labeled in a small portion in the South of Gondor, "The Forgotten People of Gondor" had been scrawled in.

"New kingdoms are made," Aragorn replied. "They must be included."

It was Calil's turn to speak up. "Our numbers are small. The kingdom is made up of but one city, at last count containing six hundred souls. Three hundred men, two hundred women, and about a hundred children. Every man knows how to wield a sword, long knife, and bow, regardless of age, as does every woman. We are a small nation, an as such children enter our armed forces at age twelve. Children under the age of ten have not yet begun their training, and they and the very old are the only non-warriors among us. I cannot withdraw my forces from the city for an offensive attack and leave my people defenseless, but I fear that you are correct. If the enemy were to attack, they would take us."

Aragorn nodded, eyes solemn. "And if we are indeed preparing for war, I cannot spare my army to send them to stand for you."

She sighed. "It would seem we are left with but one option."

He nodded in agreement, having come to the same conclusion. "You must move."

"But to where?" She asked quietly, contemplatively. "You know as well as I that they will not accept returning here, and I would not ask them to."

Aragorn turned to his allies. Eomer shook his head, "Edoras has not the food supply to support six hundred people, and Helm's Deep is still being repaired. We have been lucky to have such long years of peace."

"It grieves me to say this, but it is much the same in Rivendell. We do not have the room for so many visitors."

"Nor do I," said stout Gimli.

Legolas nodded. "I am afraid Ithilien is much the same as your city; we are indefensible at the moment, and should likewise move, though our numbers are much smaller. We will likely just return to Eryn Lasgalen." For a moment, no one spoke a word as all eyes turned to the Elvenking.

Thranduil sat, in contemplative silence. "Why should I accept your people? Why should I desire a King of _Thieves_ in my halls?"

She stared at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Do we thieve? On occasion, yes. As you would, were it necessary to your survival. We are many things, but first and foremost, a people of honor. We would not steal from those who have given us aid."

Gandalf looked hard at the Elfking. "Thranduil, this is madness." he snapped. "You are the only one here with the ability to take them in! You have vast, empty halls in Eryn Lasgalen; would you do nothing to prevent the destruction of an entire people?"

The elf turned to address Gandalf. "An entire people?" he asked, incredulous. "As far as I can tell, there is nothing unique to them. They are not a race unto themselves, only grifters who abandoned their home country."

At the same time that Legolas gasped, "Father!" in indignation, Calil stood up, rage on her features.

"And who are you to judge my people so harshly? You know nothing of them. You know not their histories, nor their hardship." Bracing her hands on the table, she leant across it. It was a favored tactic of hers, though the effect was better achieved with a shorter opponent; rather than tower over the seated king, she met his eyes squarely. "You know _nothing."_

Thranduil held her gaze for a moment. "Then I suppose I will be learning." Calil pulled away wordlessly, surprised. "After all, as they say," he continued, "I cannot stand by while an _entire people_ is decimated." His tone dripped with scorn.

Aragorn, watching the two, quietly interjected. "It is decided then." Calil looked to him, and he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Soon you shall be The Forgotten People of Eryn Lasgalen."

"Only for the duration of the threat from the east," she corrected.

He nodded in agreement. "We will begin preparations tomorrow," He turned to his allies. "I expect all of you aid in this journey. We will need all the help we can acquire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the text:
> 
> Man, that Tolkien knew what he was doing. I don't want to even tell you how many hours I've done researching his mythology. I was very happy indeed to find another Maiar who had fallen - Maiar being the servants to the Valar. The breakdown goes something like this:
> 
> \- Eru (Tolkien's God, so to speak), created the universe, the Valar gave it shape.
> 
> \- The Valar being the name for the 14 beings who shaped the universe, their race being Ainur. So, basically, the Valar are just a subgroup of the Ainur.
> 
> \- Melkor (aka Morgoth) was one of the Ainur.
> 
> \- The Maiar are servants to the Valar. The Maiar include the Five Wizards (Saruman, Radagast, Gandalf, and two Blue Wizards), Ungoliant, Sauron. They are immortal and can take any form they desire. Each serve a different Vala (Sauron was Morgoth's servant), and there are more than these, but these are the only ones you will know if you are familiar with just LotR and not the whole of Tolkien's legendarium. Of these Maiar, Saruman and Sauron (and I suppose Ungoliant too) are considered "fallen," i.e., turned evil.


	5. The Advisor and The King

Calil stood in the Minas Tirith training grounds, wearing a simple tunic and breeches, sparring with Arahael, one of the warriors who had accompanied her.

A level above, eyes watched.

"You did not tell us of a new king in your region," Eomer said to Aragorn.

The older man sighed, leaving the window to pour himself some wine. "I thought it wise to keep her existence a secret. Others may wish to follow her lead."

"You have a point. But she is a woman."

"Indeed she is. What a surprise it was when me met her! She took us for fools," he laughed.

Legolas smiled as well, fondly recalling the memory. "She did indeed."

Thranduil watched his son with a frown. "Why did you let this pretender have any territory at all?" he asked King Elessar.

"I cannot explain it, for it is a long and sordid tale. Or perhaps I do not wish to explain it, for it is an embarrassment and shames me deeply to admit, but her subjects used to be mine. I do not know much of the formation of her city, save that they desired a new king and found one - in her. She treats them justly, and kindly. She loves her people, and the sentiment is returned."

"Love of your people is not worth much when you cannot defend them," the Elvenking returned, scorn on his features.

"But she can," Aragorn replied. "She defeated two hundred of my men. And one hundred before that. She is capable of fighting a battle and coming out the victor, but not against such overwhelming odds. Not even you could do that, I dare say."

"She does seem to be quite the formidable opponent," Eomer noted, watched her practice in the yard below.

"She is indeed," Legolas agreed, laughing. "I asked her once for a friendly match. For the sake of my pride I shall not do so again!"

Thranduil turned to stare hard at his son as Gimli spluttered in disbelief. "She bested you?"

"No, but it was a very near thing."

Aragorn smiled, remembering the occasion. "It was! If I recall, you gave up on beating her with a sword and good technique and ended up tackling her and relying on brute strength."

Legolas winced. "Not my finest moment, I assure you!"

Aragorn grinned, teasing him. "She continues to be awful with the bow, though, my friend. Your saving grace. Although I must confess, the vision of dirt on your clothes and in your hair from rolling around with her has provided me amusement in many a dark hour."

Eomer looked between the two of them. "She wrestled with you? On the _ground_?"

"Aye."

"But she is a woman!"

"Aye."

"Such things are not befitting a woman, especially one of such high standing!"

Both men laughed. "There are no women of her standing," Aragorn told the younger man, clapping him on the shoulder. "When have you ever met a female king? She creates the rules for herself and her people. She is, for all intents and purposes, a man. You would do well to treat her as one."

"Except that she is _not_ a man." Thranduil stated.

"What did my daughter think of such behavior?" Lord Elrond asked, intervening and speaking for the first time.

"She found it as funny as I. She has become very fond of Calil, and finds her to be an engaging, intelligent person. She says Calil is refreshing to be around, even when covered in muck from wrestling Legolas." Legolas winced once again at Aragorn's words.

"Do you trust her? She has an eastern look about her, right down to the blade she carries." said Thranduil.

Gandalf, silent until now, spoke up. "She is of no more danger to you than I, Thranduil."

"I am not sure that is as comforting as you think," Elrond told the wizard, a slight smile on his face.

"Still, you do not find it suspicious that we face an enemy from the east, and here in our midst is suddenly an easterner?"

Aragorn stepped forward, eyes stern. "Her father is one of the Dunedain. She is of my kin. But more than that, I have gotten to know her well over the past two years. She is a brave and wise king to her people. I do trust her."

"She is not a king, Elessar. She cannot be king. She is a _woman_."

Arargorn smiled tightly. "I made the mistake of saying as much to her, once of the first times she came to visit. She corrected me very quickly. She holds all the power in her city, as a king does. In her realm, 'King' is a title, and not reliant on sex. And she fulfills her duties as king well - as well as any man here, if not better, I can assure you." Thranduil said nothing, eyes watching the training grounds below.

Calil blocked Arahael's blow, quickly spinning to strike at his midsection. He parried, and thrust. Again she spun, the blow glancing off of her blade. Feinting a strike at his knees, she swung her blade up to kiss his throat as soon as he moved for to block it a second too late.

"Third time in a row, Calil," he said, shaking the sweat out of his eyes. "Are you finished torturing me yet?"

"King Elessar has arranged a feast for tonight," she responded, stepping back and lowering her blade. "I'm not nearly finished here yet." Striding over to the barrels kept near the benches, she dipped the cup into the water and drank deeply.

"What did you think of the other men?" Anborn quietly asked from the bench next to the barrel, book in hand.

"I do not believe they approve of me," she responded, equally quiet. "But it matters not, in the end."

"They are watching you from the window above," he told her, eyes flicking to the window mentioned briefly before returning to Calil's face.

She dropped the cup back into the barrel. "I know."

He turned a page in his book, but his eyes did not follow the words on the page. "You had best wear those clothes Bregwen forced on you tonight. You would do well to make a good impression."

She snorted, coming to sit beside him and rummaging in her pack on the ground. "Either they are impressed by me or they are not. I do not think a bit of clothing will make a difference."

"If you put on a dress, things would go easier for you."

She glared at him as she pulled out her wet stone. "I will not put on a dress just to make them feel more comfortable."

"Will you dance at least?"

She snorted as she began sliding the stone along her blade. "They will not ask me to dance, I assure you."

"Do not be so sure. It is a mark of sophistication and status here, and their opportunity to impress or embarrass you, dependent upon their motives."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing you taught me all those fancy dances before we left, isn't it?" she asked, grinning and nudging him with her shoulder. Pouting, she set down her things and turned to him, reaching out to steal his book. "Come fight with me!"

Her trusty advisor grabbed her hands, stopping her. "I am serious, Calil. You need to behave."

"I know, I know. I will, I promise. I will put on the stupid fancy clothes and dance the stupid fancy dances, to make a good impression for my people. Now come fight with me."

At length, he shook his head and, with a sigh stood up, setting down his book. "Arahael, lend me your sword."

Walking to the center of the practice ring, she assessed him. Doing a few practice swings, the muscle stood out in his shoulders and arms, and he was significantly taller than her. _Challenging him may have been a mistake_ , she thought to herself. The rest of her men began to gather around. They knew that Anborn was a force with a sword - he was, besides being one of Calil's advisors and experts on life in Minas Tirith, one of her finest warriors. Before he had left the city, he had been the son of a nobleman and was in the Tower Guard. He refused to say why he had left, and no one pushed him to tell, so glad were they for his presence.

Without warning, he drew the blade straight back and lunged at her. Parrying with a spin, she swung the blade in a high arc toward his face, and in response he raised his blade for a high block, simply pushing hers away. She stumbled back. This, she knew, was the real danger of being a female king. For all her technique, she would never be a match for the raw, brute strength of a man. It wasn't even that she was particularly petite - in fact, she was of quiet average height, albeit with a fairly small frame. It was why she fought in circular motions - swiping and not striking. If her partner got a hold on her, she was done, as Legoals had so humiliatingly proven during his match with her. She knew he was embarrassed by having to resort to such tactics, but it was nothing to match the cold humiliation of having your biggest weakness so blatantly exploited.

One of her strengths, though, was that she knew how to read her opponent. That is why she stood at the ready, waiting for Anborn to make his move again. Anborn, while gifted with a blade, was an impatient fighter - eager to finish the fight. He did not understand that to truly be a good fighter, one had to _relish_ it. It lead him to just move, and not think as strategically as he should - an oddity as he thought in nothing but strategies when _not_ fighting. He swung his blade at her, and she blocked, ignoring the fact that the blow knocked her back a few feet. With a feral grin, she employed the move she knew he always struggled with - blade out and spin, spin, spin. The result was a barrage of blows that left the opponent no chance to do anything but block desperately. In the end, he turned his blade so the the flat would be to her, and quickly raised it straight into the middle of her spin so that her wrist hit it; with her full body weight behind it, the blow was hard enough the she dropped her sword. There was a tense silence at the sight of it - her men knew she would not be made to drop her weapon without retaliation. When she moved to pick it up, Anborn kicked her rearwards, and she rolled backward into a stand once again.

"He's going to fight an unarmed woman with a _sword?"_ Eomer asked above, indignant.

"Trust me, my friend," Aragorn replied, eyes still on the female king below, "he's going to need that sword."

Calil and Anborn circled each other, wary. Anborn lunged at her, and she danced out the way, grabbing him by the wrist and spinning in toward his chest. Bending his sword hand in toward his wrist with one hand, she grabbed his sword with the other as he dropped it with a hiss of pain. Another quarter turn, and she had the blade at his neck.

"Not bad," he told her.

"Thank you." she retorted.

"You forgot one thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"My other hand is free."

Her eyes narrowed in pain as his other hand gripped a handful of hair and wrenched her head back. Letting go of the sword in favor of grabbing the hand entangled in her hair, she was left with no choice but to crumple backward as he continued pulling her downward. Before gravity took over completely and sent her crashing to the ground, Anborn wrapped an arm around her waist, slowing her fall as he dipped her backward and draped her gently upon the ground. He stood above her, smirking down at her, victorious.

"I would not be smiling yet," she told him. Grabbing the sword laying next to her once again, she kicked his feet out from under him, rolling atop to place the blade at his throat. Just as quickly, he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his head, doing a backward roll and landing above her, kneeling with one knee on the ground. As he tried to reach for the sword, she slammed the pommel into his booted foot and then shoved her weight against his less stable side where his knee touched the ground. Gravity took him and she stood, once again putting the tip of the sword to his neck.

From the ground, he laughed. "Can we stop this now? We both know that I could get out of this, and it could go on forever."

Grinning, she extended a hand and helped him up. "Impressive show. Pulling my hair?"

He shrugged. "You were too close for anything else." When she began to dust off his clothing, he grabbed her hand harshly. "Do not do that."

"What?"

"They are still watching. You do not want to appear too close for your men; it will be considered improper. In our city, it would not matter, but here it is not acceptable. You should think before you act."

She stepped away from him, eyes flashing. "Enough of this. I am not concerned with what they think. Am I not king?

He sighed. "You are."

"Then _I_ decide what is proper for me and what is not. They do not choose."

He clined his head in acquiescence. "As you say, Your Majesty."

Glaring, she turned and walked to where her own sword was, stooping to pick it up. Handing Arahael back his sword, she sheathed her own and left, head held high and with nary a look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the -verse and weapons.   
> This story is book-verse; Calil, being an easterner, carries not a straight sword but a scimitar. Scimitars are better suited for swiping than straightforward stabbing and thrusting, as they were designed to fight from horseback and not get stuck in an opponent the way a straight sword would. And since she fights in circular movements and only swipes, I thought this would be a better fit for her. After all, in the movies the elves tend to fight this way (because it looks prettier), and what do they get? Curved blades.


	6. The Feast

Calil-Gadien Abrazir entered Merethrond, head held high, impervious to the blatant stares of the noble women and men as her name and title were announced.

Just behind her, Anborn whispered in her ear, "Just do as you are, Your Majesty. You are above them. Their stares are not only at your titles, but because you are not on anyone's arm."

Nodding infinitesimally, she continued on past the scandalized nobles to King Elessar, who bowed to her. "King Calil-Gadien Abrazir, you are known to us."

She bowed in return, and murmurs erupted around her; she had been expected to curtsy it would seem. "You have my thanks for your hospitality and this great feast."

Stepping forward, he took her hand and placed it on his arm and began to guide her to the large table. "I will guide you to your seat." Lowering his voice, he continued. "Do not worry, you will grow accustomed to this. Just do as I do."

"I may not be as far off as you think," she responded. "Anborn has been coaching me on you Gondorian nobles and your fancy, high-to-do feasts."

Though he did not turn to look at the man in question, Aragorn's eyes flicked to the left, as if he could see him anyway. "Has he indeed?" When Calil turned her head to look at him questioningly, he simply patted her hand comfortingly. Raising his voice once more as he tilted his head with a smile, he said, "You must save me a dance later on, then. I am eager to see how you fare with the Gondorian steps."

Bowing to him as a servant pulled out her chair, she replied, "I will try my best to rise to the occasion."

Once she was seated at the table, he surprised her by leaning down from behind her, hand on her shoulder, and quietly murmuring in her ear, "You look beautiful tonight, Calil. Eat and be merry. You have done good things here, and saved your people. You are young; enjoy tonight." With a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of her shoulder, he turned and strode away to join his queen in their places.

Across from her, Legolas spoke as servants laid down trays of hors d'oeuvres. "He is quiet right, you do look lovely."

"Thank you."

Beside him, his father spoke. "Quite the change from ragged sparring attire, I wager."

She returned his cool gaze. "Indeed, but I am fortunate to have a talented seamstress that looks after me very well, ensuring that I am able to dress for the occasion, whether it be for fighting or feasting."

Smirking, he inclined his head. "Then it is your seamstress that has my compliments." Frowning, Legolas looked between the two as his father continued on. "Quite the unique garment. I've never seen anything quite like it. Tell me, what do you call it?"

Her chin raised, grey eyes ice cold, she responded. "I call it my clothing, and that is all." She supposed it _was_ unique, being not quite a dress but certainly not a tunic and breeches either. She _was_ wearing pants, actually, but it was unlikely anyone could tell. Her topmost layer was actually a coat, made of the palest blue cloth (a color Bregwen had insisted upon, telling her it flattered her best of all). Finely tailored to nip in at her waist, the back was laced with a wide gold ribbon, the tail of which fell down her back and matched the gold embroidery at her shoulders and sleeves and the gold fastening keeping it closed at the front. The sleeves of the coat ended in a diagonal, the edge on the outer arm extending past the edge of her inner arm. The skirt of the coat fell down in panels to mid shin in the front, but had a short train in the back. Beneath this coat she wore something of a dress/tunic hybrid of blue the color of the sky in summer, the fine ruffled and flaring skirt falling just slightly longer than that of the coat, so as to be seen. She had worn brown pants, figuring that no one would see them, but Bregwen had insisted that she wear fine leather-crafted brown boots, as they could clearly be seen. Her collar came up high and stiff and close to her neck, complimented by the fact that her hair had been pinned up, with gold flower-tipped pins standing out like stars against the darkness surrounding them. Anborn had insisted on matching jewels in her ears. On her head was a simple gold braided circlet. Nothing she was wearing had been her choice (save for the pants, which no one could see), and the result was that she looked finer than she ever had before; regal, even, which she supposed had been the intent.

Aragorn stood up to thank his guests for attending, which thankfully pulled the attention away from her. Dinner was served, and she was suddenly thankful that she only had to entertain Thranduil's scrutiny, as Eomer, Elrond, and Gimli were all seated some ways away.

As the second course, a consommé Olga, was served, Thranduil spoke again. "My son tells me that your fair city is made entirely out of tents."

She paused, broth in her spoon. "It is."

"Why tents? Do you have none among you capable of building houses?"

She frowned down at the spoon, wishing she could swallow the soup it held, but knowing that eating while being spoken to was considered to be bad manners. "We do. We do not wish to live in houses; we find tent living much easier. It is also gentler on the land, a trait I would think an elf would appreciate."

He inclined his head, smirk still in place on his face, a cold amusement in his eyes. Relieved that he did not speak again, she hurriedly took a sip of her soup. The third course was a poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers, the fourth a sautéed chicken. After that there was lamb with mint sauce, then a punch romaine followed by roast squab and cress and then a cold asparagus vinaigrette. The ninth course consisted of celery, followed by, finally, a sweet pudding. After the end of their dessert, Aragorn stood. "Let the dancing begin!"

All across the room, guests stood and made their way into an adjacent room, circular and grand in its decoration, with huge windows on three quarters of the walls overlooking the plains and courtyard. Thranduil gestured for her to enter ahead of he and Legolas, and she remarked quietly to the latter, "After so much food I am not sure I can move, let alone dance!" He chuckled, and a small, cold upturn of Thranduil's mouth implied that he, too, heard what she said.

Anborn came to her with a bow. "Your Majesty, may I have this dance?"

She smiled down at him. "It would be my delight."

Taking her hand and leading her carefully out to the dance floor, he murmured to her, "Your response was a little strong; take care, for it may be misconstrued as flirtatious."

As she took his hand and he placed his own upon her waist, she snapped in reply, "Well perhaps I am flirting." Across the room, she saw both Thranduil and Legolas's (who had been conversing quietly with each other) heads whip in her direction, Legolas's expression shocked and Thranduil's eyes narrowed at her forward reply.

Anborn grimaced as they stepped to the left, "Calil, you must not say such things."

"I am a _king_ ," she responded cooly, following his lead. "I will say what I like. Do you think Aragorn or Legolas must entertain such scrunity over a single sentence?"

"You know they do not," he returned. "But you also know that you, unlike them, are female, and as such are doomed to suffer different expectations and scrutinies."

She lifted her chin. "I do not care for your cheek."

"Then consider this - you look lovely tonight, and I daresay many a man will find himself enchanted by you. You should be careful not to mislead them." At her horrified look, he merely laughed. "Come now, Calil. I swear half the time _you_ forget your own sex!"

She looked down, cheeks flushed. "How can I forget when it would seem that everyone takes it upon themselves to remind me?"

"Oh, hush. We leave for our city tomorrow; you may as well enjoy this while it lasts." He grimaced as she very carefully trod on his foot. "Perhaps I should have spent a little more time on your instruction of this dance."

"Oh, no," she replied earnestly. "I did that on purpose."

Anborn threw his head back and laughed as Eomer stepped forward. "May I interrupt?"

With a nod, Anborn spun her into the powerful king's arms.

"You dance very well," he told her.

"I was fortunate to have a good teacher."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Your clothing is due to a good seamstress, your dancing ability is due to a a good teacher. Is there anything you can claim due to your own ability?" Had the question come from another man (or Elfking, as the case may be) she would have taken it as rude. Eomer, however, sounded merely curious, as if he were trying to take her measure rather than offer insult.

"The success of my kingdom," she responded, and he nodded once again, thoughtfully, though she imagined she saw something of approval in his eyes.

"I understand it is quite the sight to see."

"I think so," she responded. "It is no Minas Tirith, but there is no city in the world quite like it. It is one of a kind."

He looked at her, assessing. "You love it very much." It was not a question.

"I do. There is something to be said for having people choose to follow you, not do so because they have no choice. I do my best to live up to their expectations, and to not disappoint the faith they have in me."

With a slight smile and a glance at Anborn, who stood watching from the edge of the room, he replied, "I do not think you disappoint them at all. Your men are very protective of you."

She smiled. "Indeed they are, though they know they need not be. I do not require the protection of others."

He nodded. "That I believe. I saw you practicing with your man earlier today. You are skilled with a blade."

"Thank you. I do not think I would be fit to be king if I could not defend my people."

"Still, some would say it is an odd thing for a woman to do."

She smiled tightly, but there was no humor in it. "I think _all_ would say that."

"What drew you to it?

She shrugged one shoulder. "I had the skill set required."

"Surely you would like to take a husband, have children?"

"And be relegated to running some soft, fat noble's household and serving my lord husband?" she responded, scorn dripping from her words. "I think not. I would give no man such power over me."

Across the room, Thranduil and Legolas watched the female king, all pretenses at conversing abandoned. Looking at them, King Elessar decided it was his time to interrupt the young woman and the king she was dancing with.

"Eomer, I beg your pardon. May I?" he asked, gesturing to the grey-eyed woman in his arms.

"Of course." With a bow to the King of Thieves, he stepped back and placed her hand in Aragorns.

As Aragorn took her waist and they began dancing, she queried, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came to claim my dance, and to remind you that elves have very sharp ears."

Mouth quirked in puzzlement, she responded, "I do not follow."

His own grey eyes sparkling in amusement, he replied, "Elves have very sharp ears, and your conversations have piqued the interest of one Elvenking."

"I beg your pardon?" she gaped at him, flabbergasted.

The Gondorian king nodded. "I would warn you to tread carefully. Thranduil is amused by your spirit and defiance, but he is neither a kind nor gentle person. His interest in you is of the sort of a child who is about to take apart a toy to see why it isn't working as usual."

"That sounds vaguely terrifying."

"I would not worry yourself overmuch; he is not kind, but nor is there evil in his heart. He has given his word to accept and shelter both you and your people. I would, however, ask that you do nothing whilst in his presence to further arouse his interest. At present, he views you as something of an anomaly amongst mankind, but I do not believe he will continue to find your fire amusing."

She frowned. "I am not who I am for the amusement of overly pretty Elvenkings."

Aragorn winced, glancing in direction of eavesdropping father and son. Thranduil seemed amused; Legolas appeared to be resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. "Our ways are not his; and you cannot imagine the difference knowing you have all eternity to live makes."

"No. I cannot," she returned quietly as the song ended and a new began.

"Are you finished talking about me?" Two heads turned to meet the tall elf's gaze, which was entirely apathetic. She was a bit surprised Elessar would speak so openly of the Elvenking, knowing he could hear them - but then she supposed that knowing Thranduil as he did, Aragorn had known the elf would not care. "I would have this dance."

Aragorn looked to Calil. "I am afraid - to this one - I do not the steps," she replied evenly.

"Then it is time you learn." The Elfking returned cooly.

At length, she nodded her allowance. With a mental shrug, the Gondorian man bowed and stepped back, retreating to stand with Anborn as they watched the two.

Towering over her, the blonde elf held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. Stepping forward, he took her waist, beginning to lead her in a dance. "You have danced with nearly all of Elessar's allies now. Tell me, what do you think?"

Lifting her gaze from her feet as she concentrated on the steps to briefly meet his, she responded, "They are all very inspiring men."

"Indeed they are. It is amazing how much greatness can be accomplished in so short a lifespan."

She stiffened. "It does not seem so short to me."

"It would not, but rest assured your paltry life passes in but the blink of an eye for an elf."

Sparking dangerously, her grey eyes met his blue. "'Paltry'?"

"Now we lift." Dropping her hand in order to grip her waist more securely, he ordered simply, "Jump." Doing so, she was lifted gracefully into the air before he deposited her back on her feet and whisked her into a spin."Paltry indeed. I should like to see what a man such as Aragorn could accomplish if he had all the years of an elf available to him."

Her chin lifted haughtily, she responded cooly and pointedly, "A great deal more than some with that same lifespan, I daresay." The effect of her reply was somewhat lessened by the fact that she took a misstep as she spoke, resulting in her elven partner pulling her harshly and securely in the proper direction.

"You may be right," he responded, ignoring her misstep. "I do not think we will ever find out, though."

"We may not."

"Tell me, are you ready to see the lifestyle of the elves? Do you think your people can accept such a different life from their own?"

"My people can adapt," she responded. "Especially when there is no choice."

"You sound like you resent it." Once again, he dropped his hand to grip her waist. "Jump." Again he lifted her.

"I resent the situation, not the aid given, I assure you," she responded once her feet were back safely on the floor. He did not reply as they turned. "What of your own people?" she queried. "Do you think they are ready to accept six hundred Men in their home?"

"They will do so if I command it." he replied, arrogance in his tone.

"You are so secure in your power that you could command their hearts as well as their minds?"

"I am so secure in my power that I can command at least their words and actions."

"So it is inconsequential whatever way their hearts lean?"

"So long as they do as I command, yes."

She frowned, not caring for his answer, but he was not cowed. "You seem particularly adverse to the thought of marriage for one of your race, age, and sex."

She glared at him. "Are all Elves such horrid gossips?"

If she thought he would be impressed or cowed by her forthright manner, she was disappointed. His only response was a slight smirk and, "Yes. It comes with the improved hearing abilities."

"Tell me," he continued at length. "What is between you and my son?"

"Legolas?" she spluttered. "We are friends, I believe."

"He appears to care for you," the elvenking responded slowly, watching her reaction.

"As one friend cares for another." Her tone brokered no argument.

"He seems to have great respect for you,"

Her eyes flashed. "It may be difficult for you to fathom or accept, but perhaps that is because I am a person worth respecting." As the song came to an end, she stepped away from him with a bow before turning on his heel and walking away.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn, and he came face to face with his son. "Was that necessary?" the younger elf asked.

"She is going to be living amongst us. It was entirely necessary."

Legolas simply shook his head, watching as the young woman conversed with her advisor.

"And you thought you would not be asked to dance," the dark-haired man teased.

"I think it would have been better had I not," Calil returned.

"What?" he laughed, "Do not tell me that you dislike being in the arms of strange men."

"Strange _married_ men," she quipped in response, "Even better."

"Not all your partners were married," Anborn replied, "As a matter of fact, only Eomer and Aragorn are."

"It matters not," Calil replied with a shrug, gaze on the dancers on the floor.

Watching her, the Gondorian advisor did not to press the topic, rather deciding to change it. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

She glanced back at her advisor and friend. "Very much so. I am ready to be home; to see my people again."

"I fear I will not be of much use to you there."

"Nonsense!" she responded, elbowing the larger man. "Half of your job is ensuring that I remember my manners. I think it likely that I will need you more than ever!"

Looking across the room to the large and imposing King of the Wood, Anborn was surprised to see that the elf was watching him in return - and thought it likely that his king was right.


	7. The First Battle

And so it was that three days after the feast, the band of King Elessar and his allies began their journey to the realm of The Forgotten People of Gondor, to aid them in their journey to Eryn Lasgalen.

The beginning of the journey was without event, for Calil took her place between Aragorn and Eomer, both of whom she had grown fond of during her week in Minas Tirith. Since their council and feast, she had gone to great lengths to avoid the fair Elvenking, so abrasive did she find him - for all he had agreed to take in her people. He rode at the far end of the line of kings leading the way, a shining figure atop his war-elk. They were only a few leagues away from her city when a black arrow flew past her. "Ambush!" voices around her cried, and she withdrew her sword with gritted teeth.

Soon the air was thick with arrows as Orcs, some marching on foot, some mounted on wargs, flooded them. Beside her, Anborn threw himself at her, pulling them both out of the saddle. "You're not armored," he snapped. "Make yourself less of a target!" Then he was off, sword flying as he struck down many an Orc. While the men had outfitted themselves for battle and rode heavily, clanking in their armor, the King of the Forgotten People of Gondor wore only a layer of mail, not caring to be slowed down by the weight of armor.

For a while, all was lost in the haze of battle. Her sword sang, leaving Orc-blood streaming behind her; her allies appeared to fair likewise. They made impressive figures, tearing through their attackers. She knew she would long hold the vision of Thranduil, blond hair streaming, flying through enemies, sword flickering this way and that in the light. No Orc was his match. She could smell the blood soaking the grasses, hear snarls of wargs and the cries of men and creatures dying around her. Even the Lord Elrond was a sight, gleaming in golden armor as foe after foe fell beneath shining blade.

They were, unfortunately, greatly outnumbered.

Each king had their own company of about fifty men; the Elvish lords Elrond and Legolas, as well as she, had brought with them fewer groups of about ten.

How did this happen? Calil wondered, swiping her forearm across her forehead to rid it of sweat before it dripped into her eyes. We should have known of a party this large crossing through our lands. Their scouts had returned for the past week without incident. Facing two Orcs of her own, she heard Anborn grunt in pain behind her, and a thud as he sank to the ground. Whirling, she dispatched the Orc who had cut deeply into his shoulder, and the two with whom she did battle. Taking advantage of the momentary peace, she knelt next to him, ripping her tunic to begin a makeshift bandage.

"How bad?" She asked him.

He grunted. "Not too deep, but the blade was poisoned; I expect I shall faint in a moment."

She cursed, rushing to bind his wound before they were surrounded again. His eyelids were already fluttering as he fought unconsciousness. She whistled, and her warhorse Hasleth came forward to guard his back. He caught her hands, and had begun to say something when she heard heavy feet thudding behind her, and was forced to whirl and give battle her focus once more. She had blocked the Orc's swing and run him through on a retick when she heard Anborn slump fully to the ground behind her. Gritting her teeth with purpose, she stood over him, protecting her friend and advisor as best she could as the battle raged around them. Unfortunately, being stuck in one position made her vulnerable, and her enemies realized it. Swiftly they redoubled their efforts to reach her and her fallen advisor. Orc after Orc she dispatched, and yet the stream of those willing to fill the place of the just-fallen never seemed to slow. She was tiring, she was aching and bruised from the fighting, and she was badly outnumbered. And worse, she could not lose focus for a second to check on her allies or call for aid; one mistake now would mean her or Anborn's life. Even with her horse and her well-aimed hooves defending her back, Calil was struggling to defend her front and sides from such a multitude of opponents. I am going to die here, she realized. Me and Anborn both.

Then Thranduil, of all people, was there. Toward them his elk swept, antlers tossing foes about. He whirled, sword out, never still, and left to her the Orcs to her left. When they had a moment of breath, he reached down a hand to her, a small smirk and a lifted eyebrow querying her. She knew he expected her to allow him to pull her up and out of the fray; instead she bent, slinging Anborn's arm over her shoulder and supporting his weight as best she could. She stretched the arm over her shoulder in Thranduil's direction. He held her gaze with his own steady one, and somehow in those depths, she fathomed she saw surprise. Surely he did not expect her to leave her best advisor behind, to death and torture? It mattered not, for in the end, he pulled Anborn up in front of him and defended her as she swung into the saddle.

"Fall back!" she cried, sword aloft and wheeling her horse nimbly to the south. "Fall back to my city!" With a glance to make sure Thranduil stayed with her, she lead the way to do as she had directed, slashing at those Orcs who tried to attack as they rode past. She heard many hooves pounding earth behind her as the rest of the company followed, the howls and eerie, ringing barks of the wargs behind them.

They rode for all they were worth, grasses and wind flying by, without gaining any distance from their pursuers.

"You would take them to your people?"

Calil did not bother to meet Thranduil's gaze as she smiled - a cold, bloodthirsty smile. "I would."

When they were but two leagues from her city, she withdrew a horn and began to blow. Three long blasts she gave, followed by two short ones. Twice she did this, and after the second time, a return horn call answered her. Ahead, the tent city grew on the horizon. As they rode forward, it seemed as if someone had kicked a hill of ants, so much movement was there going on inside. It was only a few moments after this, to Thranduil's surprise, that a force some two hundred strong galloped toward them at full speed, the cry "To the King!" ringing in the air. The Forgotten People's riders overtook them, opening to allow these from the battle through their ranks, and formed a line behind them.

Calil raised her sword, crying, "Fall in line!" to those behind them, directing them to join the new force of warriors. She, however, surged into the city with a gesture at Thranduil to follow her, sliding to a stop near the center courtyard and throwing herself off her horse. "We need healers here now!" she cried again, in that voice that seemed to be able to carry over the crash and bang of battle, as she yanked Anborn from Thranduil's elk. People came rushing forward to help her, and she left her advisor in their hands before swinging back into the saddle. "A fine steed you are," she told Hasleth, patting her gently. Grey eyes met cold blue as she looked at Thranduil. She was surprised he had been so helpful during the battle - he had saved both of their lives - but she could not fathom why he was allowing her the command she had taken, in the the heat of battle. Nor could she begin to guess what thoughts were lurking behind those unreadable eyes and expressionless face.

"Are you ready for one more?" She asked him, at length.  
His only response was a kingly inclination of the head, a gesture forward with his sword, and "After you, Your Majesty."

Battle still lighting fire in her veins, she threw her head back and her laughter rang the air, before galloping toward the battle she could hear ensuing in front of her city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first battle.
> 
> I know it's a short one. This chapter was actually started when this story was being regularly published - and then it died with my old laptop. So, here we are, completely afresh and written from scratch. I have a feeling that old chapter had gems of moments that are now forever lost, but what can you do?
> 
> Could it be? Will Thranduil stop being a shit and learn to respect our King of Thieves?
> 
> Up next: the city clears and our Kings get to finally see Calil in her natural habitat.
> 
> Many thanks,
> 
> KiwiChookie


	8. On The Move

Despite the battle-ready words exchanged between them, by the time Thranduil and Calil returned it was much ended; her armed forces, combined with the men brought to them by her allies, had made quick work of the invading Orc company. Elessar, Elrond, Eomer, Legolas, and Thranduil watched as a helmeted warrior, armored in the style of the Haradrim, rode to her, conversed quietly for a moment, then gathered a group of men and rode after the fleeing creatures. Which a gentle kick, she directed Hasleth over to the awaiting rulers.

"My men are going after those left," she told them, breath still coming a little fast. "If they were part of an organized plan, they will not return to carry word to their masters, I guarantee it."

Aragorn nodded his agreement with the move. "Very wise."

Elrond looked toward the city, eyes grave. "I fear this is but a taste of what the forces of Ungoliant have in store. How soon do you plan to move?"

She met his gaze, her own grim. "I plan to be packed by and moved out by nightfall. Someone knew where the city was and that it was our destination. Do we know how soon Gimli could return with his own forces?"

"Two weeks, at the very least." Legolas replied. "And Gandalf shall not return from his mission for one further week."

She sighed, regarding her city, worry on her features. "I suppose we had best begin."

Thranduil watched the girl-child king as she strode about the city, calling orders for it to be packed and emptied by nightfall while people rushed about in panic, stripping tents and assembling wagons, fetching horses and tack. Here she helped a woman lift a large chest into a wagon; there she caught a small child taking advantage of the confusion to run from his guardians. No task was too small or dirty; she stopped to help an old crone make dung cakes in preparation for fires and helped a group of others push an already-full wagon out of a rut. Often she brought calm and a smile with her, leaving less tension in her wake. It was very clear she was beloved by her people.

He was aware Men considered her a beauty, aware his son agreed and moreover, considered her a formidable woman - but they were mortal, and his son had been softened by his time around such ideas. It was not for these reasons she fascinated him. Like most Elves, Thranduil was in the habit of taking things as they were rather than lying to himself, so it caused him no shame to admit that he was indeed fascinated by her. She was competent enough in battle, and he would admit the sight of her standing above her fallen man, steadfast in his defense, had stirred him. It had been long since he had entertained thoughts of such fanciful notions as valor, but he could not deny it was these very ideas, old and buried in the depths of his mind, that she awoke. However, she had interested him since their first meeting, when she had snapped at him for speaking of what he did not know. How many had spoken to him thus? Usually, he would simply have tossed the offender in his dungeons. Perhaps it was that he couldn't, her being a ruler of a realm in her own right and under their host's protection, but he had found himself amused. The race of Men were ostensibly easier to read than his own race, and the look of surprise on her face when he revealed he would indeed shelter her and her people had made him shake with inner laughter. It seemed, after a long life, the race of Men still had the ability to surprise him, as was their nature.

Fortunately, it seemed Calil had not lied when she stated her people to be a mobile one, for they had the entire village packaged in wagons by the time the sun was beginning to sink into the horizon. There were enough horses that if everyone collaborated, no one had to walk on foot, though given the wagons it was hardly a fast-moving party. Unfortunately, with such a large group of people, finding a place to camp and making that camp took time, as did breaking camp in the first light.

Elrond, Thranduil, Legolas, Eomer, and Aragorn were gathered in Calil's tent, discussing plans for the settling of their people. Though they would be able to settle and live out their time as needed in Eryn Lasgalen in safety, there was still a rather large amount to figure. Firstly, she knew nothing of Elvish cities, nor how they were organized; how would she fit the daily life of her people together with the daily lives of Thranduil's? Did she need to instruct her diggers to dig new latrines for privies, or was the system of waste handling already in his kingdom sufficient for six hundred additional people? Would his blacksmiths welcome newcomers to their forges? Where would the weavers work? They traded for farm goods (one of the benefits of her relationship with King Elessar), which left her one less group of people to be concerned with, but what was game like? Would they be able to continue to hunt and store enough meat for all of them? Where would they put what they already had stored, and were bringing with them? Integration was sure to be an interesting venture.

A man entered the tent, stopping just inside the entrance and bowing to Calil. "Your Majesty," he said by way of greeting, his stiff and upright demeanor marking him clearly for a military man. It was the same warrior they had seen conversing quietly with her for a moment after the battle before the City of the Forgotten People of Gondor, the man dressed in the decorated armor of the Haradrim. Interestingly, given the choice of armor, he wore not the head wrappings standard to that culture, but a helmet of the westron style, now under one arm. He was a man of beauty, to be sure; dark brown skin, Haradrim like his armor, matched liquid almond-shaped dark brown eyes, and curling black hair was cropped short atop his head. Full lips accentuated the strength of a square jaw, and he was nearly a head taller than Calil, making him of a size with most of the Men in the room.

She nodded absently, eyes still downcast, studying the model of Eryn Lasgalen spread on a table below her. "My second advisor and general, Husi Nu'nif," she said, by way of introduction. "Report, general."

He bowed to the foreign leaders, then straightened, staring ahead. "We pursued the attacking party of Uruk-hai eastward for nearly four leagues before catching them. We questioned several vigorously, but they gave mostly threats. We killed all that remained."

Finally distracted from her musings, Calil lifted her head to look at her general."Mostly threats? What did they say?"

"'The eggs of Ungoliant will hatch, and we will swarm your land in an ocean of spiders. She'll get everything; she'll get it all', Lady." he quoted.

Her eyebrows drew down. Leolas leaned forward, Elessar shifted, Elrond drew his hands within his sleeves. "Well," she said, sounding unimpressed, and the general's eyes began a silent sparkling of laughter, though his face otherwise remained expressionless. "That does sound alarming. I hope no one here is withholding a fear of spiders." She looked to Husi Nu'nif. "Is that all?"

He bowed, saluted, said "Your Majesty," once more, turned on his heel, and left. Silence echoed in the tent; none could think of a response for Ungoliant's words.

Suddenly, Eomer hmphed slightly. "Man of few words, your man." Chuckles fell around the room as the tension broke.

She grinned. "I do prefer them that way. No use in a general sitting around gabbing, unless it's about strategy, that's what I believe."

Smiling openly in amusement now, he turned to the other men, who were beginning to laugh outright. "That was the shortest report I think I have heard in my life! Three sentences!"

She chuckled. "Yet we still learned the most pertinent information, did we not? Even better, he gives me written reports with more detail than I could ever desire, or desire to read, every third day."

At length, they decided the evidently-competent Husi was to take charge of organizing the guard for the traveling caravan, taking extra men from Thranduil, Elessar, and Eomer's forces as need be. They also discussed if there was anything they should do while they awaited Gandalf's return - but as his mission was of a secret nature, there was little enough they knew to prepare - and where to send Gimli's forces to make camp until they were ready to march. Of course, the conversation did eventually turn to the meaning of the Great Orc's words. Were they literal, and there really were hordes of Great Spider eggs lying in wait to hatch, hidden across the realms? Just how far had the reach of Ungoliant extended? Also, then, to not only Husi but each of their respective generals, went the duty of dispatching scouting parties, much more extensive than those they had each conducted previously on their own. Business concluded, each ruler began to depart for their own tent. The first out of the the tent were also those with the sharpest ears, and Legolas shook his head at his father as they heard the female ruler sink into a chair with a groan and call Furlong to send for Husi to come to her, to receive his new orders. "She does not have my envy," he told his father. "Four mere hours until dawn, and her a mortal!"

His father did not scoff. "Such is the role of a ruler during wartime. We may all be called to play such roles soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it. Camaraderie grows between our allies, as it will do between traveling companions on a long haul, and we're introduced to more of Calil's people.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
